The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (33 page)

Arriving, she stepped out into a covered
archway, where behind a gate, a wooden door lead into a sandstone
building. A man emerged, a porter.

"I need to speak to my son, Harold Kinelly,"
she said, holding herself upright.

"Please, madam, come inside," he said,
opening the iron gate for her. "Please follow me."

They walked into the sandstone
building and up a narrow set of stairs. Rooms were spread along a
corridor, passing one by one, until the porter stopped and knocked
on one. "What?" she heard Harry's voice inside.

"A visitor for you, Master Kinelly," the
porter said and nodded to her before leaving.

Heavy steps and Harry opened the door,
looking slightly shocked to see her. "Mother," he said.

"Harry." Anne wasn't quite sure how to
modulate her voice. She was extremely angry and disappointed in
him. "I’ve come to see what it is you're up to. I received some
disturbing information."

"Come in," he said, looking down the
hall and back as if to see if they were observed.

Anne stepped into his room, which held a
bed, a wardrobe and a desk. He stood by with his arms crossed. "It
is for the best," he said.

"Swindling my house off me? How can
that possibly be for the best? You're taking the only thing I ever
had from me."

"Don't be so melodramatic, mother. That
house is too big and too distant anyway. It is better this way."
Hearing this confirmation clenched her heart. This wasn't a
misunderstanding; he had deliberately acted against her.

"How could it possibly?"

"I'll sell the house and we'll get you some
rooms somewhere. We can purchase an annuity for you."

"Who are we exactly?"

He looked caught for a moment.

"This is your father's doing."

"It makes sense."

"It is my house!" she yelled.

"Keep your voice down," he replied
sharply. "The stress is too much for you, speaking of unnatural
things going on in the house. I'm sorry if you don't understand,
but this needs to be done."

"No, you will stop this," she said firmly.
"You will not take my house."

He came up and stroked along her arms.
"It will be fine, you'll see. We'll get you some rooms somewhere by
the seaside." Nicely hidden from sight, he neglected to mention. "A
house of that size is too much responsibility for you. The stress
is making you neurotic. Besides, with the money, there are other
things we could do. It opens up possibilities. For example, some of
the chaps are planning a trip to Italy in the summer, and I could
join them." His face looked bright. "You want me to experience such
a thing, don't you? It will be like a traditional Grand Tour.
Wouldn't that be fantastic?"

Anne blinked. "Something your father should
provide for you."

Harry gave her a chiding look. "It would be
difficult for him. Likely he will be expecting additions to the
family soon. This is the simplest option."

Anne stared at him as if she didn't know him
at all. "Do you not care for me at all?"

"Of course, I do. I am doing this because I
care." He made a smiling laugh as if wondering how she could
question that. "This will be for your benefit, freeing you of the
obligation and responsibility. That land should be managed. How
could you possibly manage land?"

"I am," she said.

He looked at her disbelievingly. "Please
just trust me, mother."

"I do not agree to this," she said,
feeling her voice weaken. She took a step back and turned away from
him as tears were threatening.

"A nice cottage by the seaside will be
lovely. All that fresh sea air. It will be marvelous for your
health." At least he was upgrading her from rooms to a
cottage—obviously an expression of guilt. It was there in his eyes,
and now he refused to meet hers. "I can take you to lunch if you’d
like."

"No, I need to get back. I have a farm to
manage." She couldn't bear sitting across from him for an hour; she
had to get away. With her spine straight, she walked to the door.
"You know, son, I thought Stanford's betrayal was terrible, but I'm
not sure it compares to that of your own child."

"Mother," Harry said with exasperation,
"there is no need for such dramatics. This will all be well, you
will see."

Anne turned and left, neglecting to
close the door behind her. Her heart felt frozen in shock and
grief, not far different from how she felt when her aunt had died.
This felt like a death—a death of her trust. Harry refused to even
listen to her. All he wanted was the money he could milk out of
her, to then discard her. Maybe she was being too harsh. Perhaps in
his mind, he did believe this was for the best, but she suspected
to him that was simply an added benefit.

Hailing a hack, she returned to the
train station. Her mouth was tight as she stepped onto the train
heading back to London, where she would change to one heading
north.

Absently, she watched the scenery fly
by, not really noting anything. Her heart was too heavy, but it
also gave to a deep and encompassing anger. She was determined to
fight. She didn't know how she would find the means, but she would.
Mr. Charterham expected she would lose and maybe she would, but she
would still fight, if for no other reason than for them to know she
would not agree to this. They had to force this out of her grip,
and at the very least, people would know what they were doing to
her. They deserved for this to be known.

She slept poorly on the train, waiting
hour after hour. There was a small child in the compartment,
clinging to her mother for comfort and care. The mother gently
stroked the girl as she slept, doing what she could to make her
comfortable. Mothers were like that; they did what they could. Anne
had always believed that relationship was sacred, but was now
wondering if some used that instinct to their benefit. She hated
the suspicion and doubt that had crept into her. It colored
everything. Still, even with Harry's lack of caring, she couldn't
stop loving him. Maybe that was the cruelest part of
all.

At times, it felt as if this train
journey would never end. Day passed to night, and before long,
light was creeping along the horizon again. She was well beyond
tired when she finally arrived in Goathland. It felt a long time
since she’d left, when it had only been a matter of
days.

It didn't take long to find someone
heading her way, but she had to walk from the road. It took hours,
the last of it walking in the moonlight, which fortunately was
enough to let her see. Her tears were not always as generous. Every
part of her ached, but mostly her heart. This might be the cruelest
blow yet. Perhaps it would be worse if on some level she hadn't
expected this. She'd know something was coming.

The house appeared in the distance,
silhouetted in the moonlight. It looked dark and almost morbid, but
she had never been happier to see it. Inside there was a being who
actually saw her. He might have started as a monster, but
underneath was a soft place for her, where she felt safe. The
people who were supposed to love her, whose duty it was to love and
care for her were the other way around, pleasant of the surface,
but monsters underneath. It revealed itself whenever she stood
between them and what they wanted.

The door was locked when Anne arrived
home and it felt like another blow, one she probably blew out of
proportion by an astonishing degree, but her heart just couldn't
take another setback, even if minuscule in magnitude. She felt like
crumpling down and admitting defeat, even when she was so very
close to her destination. The locked door seemed
insurmountable.

After a while, a light moved through
the inside of the house and Lisle finally unlocked the door,
swinging its heavy weight open. "You look worse for
wear."

"It's been a trying few days," Anne
admitted, caring nothing for how she looked.

"What has occurred?"

Anne's shoulders sank. It was hard to admit
it. "My son is trying to take ownership of the house."

Lisle didn't say anything as she considered
the statement. "Little bludger," she finally said.

While her instinct was to defend
Harry, she couldn't. His actions were deplorable, no matter how he
tried to dress them up. Anne just sighed and shrugged off her coat.
"I'm exhausted." She was glad Lisle didn't dismiss this development
as something unimportant. This was important; it was a profound
betrayal, and Anne thought more of Lisle for seeing it that way.
Not everyone would.

"Are you hungry?"

"Probably, but I don't think I can eat."

"In the morning, then."

Anne nodded absently and headed for the
stairs. In her tiredness, they seemed a true obstacle, but she
forced her aching legs to propel herself up.

Her room was dark and cold when she got
inside. Lisle followed, pouring some coal in the grate. "I didn't
know you were coming."

"That's alright," Anne said
automatically and started undressing. She was beyond caring for her
modesty; she just wanted the constricting dress off her. The cold
was welcoming, as long as she could be free. She even unpinned her
hair and let it flow over her shoulders. Somehow this act was
making her teary again and she crawled into her bed, facing
away.

Lisle finished up and left, closing the
door. The mattress was soft and welcoming, but Anne couldn't stop
the tears from flowing. It was as if she could truly grieve now
that she was somewhere safe—a safety they were trying to rob her
of. Her body wracked with sobs. But she stilled when a hand pressed
down on her upper arm. He was there. She'd wished for him for what
seemed like the whole journey. His warm body pressed to her
back.

"You left," he said.

"There was a letter informing me that my son
is acting against me."

"I'm sorry," he said, his lips softly
stroking along her shoulder.

"He is trying to take the house from
me." It still hurt to admit it, to say it out loud. It made it feel
more true. New tears flowed from sore and heated eyes. Would they
ever stop flowing? He didn't say anything, just stroked her down
her back. Shifting, she sat up and faced him, tucking her knees up.
"I thought a malicious ghost was horror, unseen things chasing you
in the night, meaning you harm, but this is horror, being betrayed
and abandoned by one’s family, by someone you love. No violence,
just a dispassionate absence of caring."

"It isn't much easier to bear when they
actually mean you harm."

"No, I suppose not."

Tears spilled again. "What did I do
for them to turn on me so? Was I so horrible they cut me out of
their hearts? Well, with Stanford, I'm not entirely sure he ever
let me in. But Harry…" She couldn't finish. He had been her little
boy, her sunshine and her reason for rising in the mornings. He'd
been her everything.

"You can never know what is in someone
else's heart, and you are not responsible for what they choose to
carry inside them. You are only responsible for yourself, and if
you loved the people who needed you to, that is all you had to
do."

It sounded so simple when he said it. "Did
you love your wife?"

"I tried my best to do right by her, but I'm
not sure I ever loved her. I tried to, but her bitterness and
jealousy destroyed the relationship between us. She was a better
mother than she was a wife."

"Yet her actions destroyed her
children."

"That was not her intention, but the forces
she unleashed on us were always going to be outside of her control.
She never understood that."